The Old And The Immortal
by aWildSheepChase
Summary: Lilo grows old as the years go by, but Stitch remains the same.


The Old And The Immortal

Lilo stood at the front door, overlooking the beach in the distance, a warm wind blowing the scent of salt into her nostrils. One hand gripped the porch-railing, her aging legs unsteady. Behind her she could hear the whirling of the blender. Stitch was making her the usual protein shake. The old woman smiled. Stitch has always been so faithful to me, she thought.

"Milkshake is ready!" Stitch called, walked over to Lilo, holding her glass in four hands. "Eh." He offered her the drink, which she took gratefully.

"Thank you, Stitch." she said softly.

"Nana coosta." Stitch babbled, his alien-talk never ceasing to amuse her; Lilo laughed gently and took a long gulp from her shake.

"Did you put pineapple in this?" she asked curiously.

"Eh!" Stitch climbed up onto porch-railing and sat there, swinging his stubby blue legs. "Go to the beach today?" Stitch asked, tilting his head at the woman.

"I don't think I can make it there today..." She admitted quietly. "But you can go if you'd like to, Stitch." She took another swig from her drink, disguising the pity she felt for herself.

"Okay. I stay here with you." Stitch smiled widely, white teeth gleaming. His teeth were so sharp, so deadly; when was the last time he needed to use them? When was the last time he needed to protect her?

The life they now lead, Lilo thought sadly, was dull and pathetic. Nothing exciting ever happened to them, now that Lilo was growing much older. Stitch, however, remained the same. He was full of energy, but lacked a proper outlet for it. With this in mind, Lilo spoke up, a hint of cheeriness in her voice: "Maybe we can go to the beach today. Just for a little while."

"No." Stitch immediately replied.

"No?"

"No."

"Why not?" Lilo asked, setting down her glass upon the railing.

"Your legs are shaking." Stitch told her.

It was true. But she couldn't make them stop! Sighing, Lilo sunk to the hardwood and sat down on the steps. "Fine..." she pouted.

"Maybe ..." Stitch hesitated, his ears rotating. He tilted his head down at her. "Just a little while?" He asked.

"Yes, we wont stay long. I promise." Lilo smiled at Stitch; she knew once he had the idea of surfing in his head, he couldn't get it out. "Don't worry. I'll be all right... Can you go fetch my wheelchair?"

Stitch flung himself off the railing, darting off into the house.

Lilo leaned back, taking in the morning sunshine, the crisp scent of the sea. Today felt like a very good day. Stitch returned carrying the wheelchair over his head. "Here you go!" he set the chair on the grass then scooped Lilo out, placing her down with a practiced gentleness into the seat. "Do you want me to go slow?" he asked her. A routine question.

"No." Lilo tilted her head and grinned up at him. "I want to go fast!"

Stitch gripped the handlebars tightly. "O-kay!" He started running, pushing the wheelchair ahead of himself. Laughing, Lilo tucked her arms in close and gripped the bottom of her seat. The road was uneven; the bumps were like knives in the old woman's back, but she embraced the pain with tears of laughter. It had been a long time since the two of them had any real fun together. She refused to spoil it for him.

Once they arrived at the beach, both breathless for different reasons, Stitch guided Lilo out of the chair so she could lay on the beach. "I want to be closer." She told him. "I want to stick my feet in the water."

Stitch obediantly picked her up. There were other people on the beach. They watched with cynical eyes as the little blue alien effortless carried Lilo across the shore. Once she felt close enough, Lilo asked to be put down; Stitch obeyed, then ran off to the surf-board kiosk.

Lilo laid back in the sand, her breathing slow, her heart racing. She carefully stretched out her legs, soaking them in the cool water, the wet sand sucking at her feet. The muscles in her back felt torn. She privately wondered if she had broken one of her ribs.

When Stitch ran back he was all smiles, flinging himself out into the water, a bright yellow board catching him. "Aloha!" he cried, waving all four feet enthusiastically.

To this, Lilo laughed and waved back. She was glad her devoted friend was enjoying himself. As the waves came and went, so did Stitch, the surf taking him farther and farther away from her. People shouted and cheered for Stitch as he road the wild waters. His return to shore became less and less frequent as the sun moved across the sky; a blue speck in a blue world, Stitch may as well have been an illusion.

Growing tired, Lilo laid down in the sand to rest, dragging her arms up over her face for protection.

Voices babbled all around her; People came and went. The beach became an almost isolated place. Nearby, Lilo could hear the distinct sound of people kissing. Lilio laughed quietly to herself. The water ebbed and flowed; she could feel it washing closer and closer to her mid-section, but she didn't move. It felt nice. She knew she must be sunburnt by now; the water eased this distant pain.

Stitch continued dominating the waves, his yellow board cutting through the water like an artifical shark. He did twists on his board and jumps and turns and handstands; he was showing off, but he couldn't help it. He loved being close to the sea- he loved the danger- for he was risking his life every single time: he would drown if he were knocked off the board. It was times like these when Stitch was his most playful, talking nonstop about his experience as he and Lilo made the slow trekk home.

But now...? Today was different. Today, Lilo wanted to put her feet in the water. Today, Stitch was getting ahead of himself; he didn't want to return to shore yet; he wasn't ready to go home.

Lilio, however, was ready in a way that the immortal Stitch could, later, never truly understand. She was ready to die. That is why, when the waves came and carried her gently under it's depths, she did not struggle; she let the sea gently take her life away.


End file.
